


Five Times Dean and Sam Might Have Talked in Metaphors

by nixwilliams



Series: Five Times (Supernatural) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-02
Updated: 2006-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nixwilliams/pseuds/nixwilliams
Summary: “Looks like it’s gonna rain,” says Dean.“It’s always going to rain.”
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Five Times (Supernatural) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773520
Kudos: 4





	Five Times Dean and Sam Might Have Talked in Metaphors

**1\. The Shirt**  
  
“You can’t wear it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I said.”  
  
“Yeah. Why did you say?”  
  
“Because I can. Because it’s mine.”  
  
“It’s a fucking shirt, Dean.”  
  
“And it’s mine.”  
  
“For fucks sake.”  
  
“Why’d you want it anyway?”  
  
“It’s the only decent shirt I could find.”  
  
“Where you going?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Out, alright?”  
  
“Not in my shirt.”  
  
“Why the fuck not? I’m not going to wreck it.”  
  
“Yeah? Some dork’s gonna spill shit on it.”  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Take if off.”  
  
“This is stupid.”  
  
“Why you wanna wear it, then?”  
  
“Not the shirt, dick.”  
  
“ _Not the shirt, dick_.”  
  
“Shut _up_.”  
  
“ _Shut uuup_.”  
  
“Alright, fine. Get off me.”  
  
“Don’t get shitty.”  
  
“Don’t be such a jerk. Here.”  
  
“Dude, this shirt needs washing. I can’t believe you were gonna wear it out. It stinks.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t really _stink_. Just smells like me.”  
  
“I know.

  
**2\. The Weather**  
  
Sam stares and stares and stares. Trees and road and towns and road and sky and fields and towns and rivers and road and trees and sky and people and rivers and towns and trees and road and fire and people and fields and fire and towns and sky and trees and, and road and sky and people and fire and fields and, and rivers and sky and people and fire and, and, and death and road and fire and road and sky and fire and road and  
  
“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” says Dean.  
  
“It’s always going to rain.”

**3\. Running**  
  
Dean comes in from running and goes straight to the bedroom, feeling like he’s got the entire season of spring tucked inside his chest. Grass, and the scent of overnight rain, and the sparkling spiderwebs draped between almost-bare branches. It’s like winter has just given up, rolled over and raised its hands in surrender. There’s a kick in the air that makes him feel that he’s running _towards_ something. Towards _something_ , something big, something new, something _good_.  
  
He ruffles Sam’s hair, and grins as his brother snaps awake, grabs his wrist, and has him pinned to the floor in under three seconds. Dean’s not up for struggling, so he just keeps grinning up at Sam’s sleepy face and says, “Morning.”  
  
Sam stares at him for a minute, then grabs Dean’s arm and hoists them to their feet. “What’s given _you_ the sunshine?” he grumbles, and plops back onto his bed, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“Spring,” says Dean, and throws himself down beside his brother. “What’s given you the miseries?”  
  
Sam stops for a second, between raising his hand and running it through his hair. When he replies, it’s so soft Dean can barely hear. “I’m going to go to college.”  
  
And Dean feels like he’s run smack into a concrete wall.

**4\. The Gun**  
  
“Take this with you.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sammy.”  
  
“But what if –,”  
  
“No, it’s okay.”  
  
“But yours is broken.”  
  
“It’s not _broken_ , I just need to clean it out properly. I’ll do it tonight.”  
  
“Take it.”  
  
“I’m only going to the laundry, Sammy.”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“If I take it, you won’t have it.”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“I do. It’s _your_ gun, so _you_ keep it. You gotta defend the fort.”  
  
“Don’t want to.”  
  
“Well, you have to. And you shouldn’t go giving your gun to other people, anyway.”  
  
“I’m not. I’m giving it to you."

**5\. Iced Tea**  
  
Dean trudges up the front steps, peeling off his t-shirt. Fuck running in August. It’s so hot he can barely _walk_. He steps inside, wiping his face on his shirt, and the screen door bangs shut behind him. Sam’s leaning on the kitchen bench with a glass of something in one hand, and an expression on his face that disappears a millisecond after he glances up at Dean.  
  
“What you got?”  
  
Sam swirls the glass, and Dean can hear the tiny chink of ice cubes knocking together. It sounds like paradise.  
  
“Iced tea.”  
  
Dean swipes the t-shirt over the back of his neck and jokes, “Bit early for that, isn’t it?” He sniffs the shirt and tosses it over the back of a chair.  
  
Sam does a good impression of his usual _I don’t believe I’m related to such a moron_ face and says, “No, proper iced tea. Tea. With ice.” He swirls the glass again, and Dean would kill for a drink of _that_.  
  
His eyes light up when he notices the jug on the bench behind Sam. “Sounds good,” he says, and starts warming down, rolling his neck, stretching his arms, his upper back. Sam’s almost not watching, and Dean almost doesn’t flex just a little more than necessary.  
  
“You, ah, wouldn’t like it.”  
  
Dean flashes him a grin, and walks over, rolling his shoulders, backwards and forwards. “Wouldn’t I?” He jiggles the jug and peers in. “You gonna give me a taste?”  
  
He looks up, and there’s a tiny moment when Sam’s gaze meets his and Dean thinks of cool earth, and dusk in autumn, and places far away from the suffocating heat of summer. Places he might like to stay a while, places he might like to get to know. But it’s only for a second, and their eyes bump away like ice cubes.  
  
Sam holds the glass out, wordlessly, and Dean doesn’t exactly mean to slide his fingers over Sam’s as he takes it. “Smells good,” he comments, though truth be told he can’t smell much over his own sweat.  
  
The glass is deliciously cool, and beads of condensation have formed on the outside. Suddenly, all Dean can do is bring it up to rest on the side of his face, and _god_ that feels good. His eyes drift closed, and he slides the coldness over his forehead, across his other cheek, and down against his neck, letting out a small, satisfied moan.  
  
“You’re meant to drink it, dick,” Sam says in a voice just a little too high and loud to be relaxed.  
  
Dean starts, then looks up at his brother, letting his lips curl slowly into a smile. Sam frowns as Dean brings the glass to his mouth, glares as Dean's eyebrows go up just a touch, scowls as Dean lets his tongue slide out a fraction of an inch to the corner of his mouth –  
  
Sam’s left eyelid twitches once, then twice, and he snatches the glass from Dean’s hand, pushing past him and slamming through the door.  
  
Dean watches the screen swing back with a bang, waits for a few seconds, face neutral, then goes to the fridge for a beer. Now he’s cooled down a bit, he agrees with Sam. Iced tea really doesn’t sound like his thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted from DW.


End file.
